


It's So Much More Fun When You Make Him Beg

by bittymirror



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Light Dom/sub, Troll Biology, aradia pov, female dom, male sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittymirror/pseuds/bittymirror
Summary: Aradia walks in on Equius practicing his morning yoga routine. But things always go according to her plan.
Relationships: Aradia Megido & Equius Zahhak, Aradia Megido/Equius Zahhak
Kudos: 16





	It's So Much More Fun When You Make Him Beg

His nostrils flare as he exhales, bending his elbows at precise 90 degree angles as he lowers his body halfway to the ground. Drops of sweat roll off his face to splatter softly on the already damp mat below, offering a thin cushioning between his hands and the rigid, metallic floor. He inhales with a breath that rumbles in his throat, audible even to you as you stood quietly in the doorway to his block. Your hands hang loosely by your side, fingers playing with the well-worn fabric of your skirt. Still breathing in this way that reminds you of the roar of the ocean waves, he straightens his arms while curving his back and neck towards the ceiling. Loose silky straight black hair falls back over his shoulders. Without his glasses, you notice his eyes are closed, not squeezed shut, but relaxed as if he was in sleep. Your own dark brown eyes follow the curve of his spine, tracing the generous lines of muscle down his back, across his thighs hovering inches over the ground, to the tops of his bare feet pressing into the mat. The weight of the sigh he exhaled while reversing the relative positions of his hips and his head surprised you. It was comfortable, relaxed almost. But there was an edge of underlying poignancy, of a frustration that no level of control could dull.

His body forms an almost perfect upside-down V-shape. His hair hangs in a curtain around his head, ensuring he won’t see you as you creep forward slowly into the room. The walls are bare, save for a single poster of a hoofbeast hanging above his recuperacoon, admittedly a little disturbing in its life-like depiction. Empty milk bottles are neatly stacked in one corner. A heavy metal worktable takes up most of the opposing wall. Increasingly complex prototypes of robotic legs are scattered about it, many with crushed kneecaps, broken feet dangling uselessly from angular ankles. You think of his large, rough hands around the screwdrivers, soldering irons, and other tools neatly lined up on one side of the table, of how softly he must hold them to ensure they won’t snap with an accidental twitch of his fingers. You brush your own hands over your hips, picturing the still-healing bruises dotting your skin there.

Grabbing your thick curls in one hand, you sit cross-legged on the floor behind his mat, tossing your hair over one shoulder to prevent it from getting caught underneath you. That shit hurts. You prefer to administer rather than receive pain. Movement from Equius draws your attention. He’s at the top of the mat now and squatted down into a little ball, reminiscent of a wiggler curled in on itself. The image of the proud and dignified Equius scrabbling around as a grub wearing tiny dark glasses almost makes your composure break. You manage to choke back a giggle, largely due to your vast experience in suppressing any non-rage emotion.

You shake your head lightly, then return to ogling your matesprit. His shoulders bunch together slowly, and his weight shifts forward onto his hands. Matching his breath to his movements, he simultaneously lifts bended legs into the air. You can’t see even a hint of strain in his muscles or on his face as he straightens his legs and points his feet to the sky, his body forming a straight line jutting upward. You watch, practically unblinking, as his loose black tank top oh so gloriously drifts towards the ground. A silent thank you to the functional gravity generators crosses your mind for the briefest of moments. Then a hard flat stomach, small blue-gray nipples, pebbled from the texture of the shirt rubbing against his sculpted chest, and the just-visible beads of sweat rolling down his flexed biceps prevents anything distinguishable as a word from occupying your think pan. The casual display of total body control causes you to swallow thickly. No wonder your temporary robotic shell had been able to move with effortless precision. Equius moved through his world with the same level of care. His only experience interacting with physical objects was with extreme caution and attention. He knew no other way to touch things, to touch people. You wonder when he realized that other trolls don’t need to think about the exact amount of strength to put into their hands to pick up a glass, to close a door, to touch another’s arm. His elbows bend slightly, and he moves his legs laterally into a straddle. He holds the pose for a moment, and you watch his chest steadily rise and fall. Always, you decide. He’s absolutely always known he is different. He’s always known.

He inhales again and returns his legs to their starting position. When he releases his breath in a sigh, his eyes open, and he sees you.

“Lady Aradia? Oh my, oh goodness, oh my goodness.”

A fresh sheen of sweat begins to glow on his forehead, and his legs start to wobble forward and back. His dark irises, so beautifully expressive, reveal his panic. You smile despite yourself. He’ll misinterpret that smile, undoubtably.

“Equius, it’s okay!” you start, and before he can fall, you uncross your legs and use your hands to push yourself to stand. You cross the distance between you with a few steps, and place your hands on his hips, steadying him. You can feel his body swaying under your touch, and you begin to soothingly rub his sweat-slick skin with your fingertips.

“It’s okay. I’m happy to see you and I love watching you move like this. And you don’t need to call me Lady, remember?”

His body and his breath slowly return to stillness. His eyes strain upward to meet yours, and you smile again.

“I…I apologize, Aradia. I do remember, yet in situations where I am…flustered, previous conversations tend to slip my mind and I return to old habits, regardless of propriety.”

“That’s alright! Making change takes time. Or, making change in a healthy way takes time. I think we are both pretty good at making unhealthy change.”

Equius flashes a gap-toothed smile. “That we are.”

You release his hips and crouch down, crossing your arms over your knees and balancing on your tiptoes. He instinctually averts his eyes from your face, a light flush of blue dusting his cheeks, but he quickly meets your gaze once more.

“I didn’t know you did yoga,” you comment, using a red-tipped finger to wipe a bead of sweat clinging to the tip of his nose. He sniffs, and a fresh drop replaces it immediately.

“Yes, it is part of my daily routine that you haven’t been privy to. I make every effort to complete maintenance activities before you are likely to visit my room. Your presence now is…unexpected.”

As he talks, his flush deepens, a rich blue from his neck to his horns. You suspect the main culprit of this coloration is not embarrassment (for once), but his prolonged handstand. Pretending not to notice, you lower your gaze to the ground in the way you know sets his pump biscuit fluttering.

“Oh…I didn’t know you wanted to be alone right now. I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

You rise slowly to your feet, swishing your skirt around your legs so it swirls up to reveal your delicate ankles. It is still hard to understand how a glimpse of your socks could produce the reaction it does in him. But your understanding is not critical to the effect – and the effect is what you are after here.

Predictably, Equius’ mouth drops open and his eyes dart to the side once again.

“Lady-,” he begins, then clears his throat. “I mean, Aradia, could you please step back so I may execute the proper form in coming out of this pose? I don’t believe I can stay like this for much longer. And I would very much like to continue our conversation, so please don’t leave on my account.”

One finger taps lightly on your red lips, pantomiming a troll in thought. Of course, you know exactly what you are planning to do next. A few more hints from you and Equius should figure it out too. His toes flex and point restlessly, and you notice his toenails need repainting. The gray of his skin is visible through the chips in the black polish. You’ll have to ask him to let you “practice” your nail-painting skills on him again. But you’ll have plenty of time for that later.

Your finger moves from your lips to his thigh, and you scratch down his leg, pushing his soft black shorts down until you can see the thin strip of skin above his thigh-highs. A trail of goosebumps follows in your finger’s wake. Equius is such a sensitive boy.

“Well…I suppose I could stay a little longer. But what was that first part, Equius? You know it’s hard for me to follow two commands at once.” You finger pokes into his thigh to punctuate your last few words.

“Oh, my word, no, those were not commands! I mean, I would greatly like for them to be obeyed-followed-received positively! Fiddlesticks, Aradia, I am having difficulty maintaining this conversation in my current position.”

“Alright, alright, hold your horses.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, and you step aside. You stare openly as he lowers his legs to the ground, ending up in the exact same squatting posture as he was minutes earlier. Even now, interrupted and flustered as he was, he breathes carefully, moves carefully. Before he can move to stand, you move to the front of the mat.

“I can stay. But you need to lay down.”

His face tilts up towards yours, and you twitch your mouth into a smirk. He returns the smile and does as he is told.

Once he is settled on the floor, hair streaming about his head and color fading from his cheeks, you hitch up your skirt and straddle him, mirroring his previous posing. Holding your skirt, you sink to your knees, coming to sit on his stomach. Despite his recent physical exertions, his skin is clammy, and you press yourself into him, knowing the warmth of your burgundy blood soothes him. You take in the precious sight of him, then lean forward towards his face. Your hair falls forward as you move, blocking out much of the room’s dim light, and you press your lips to his stunted horn.

“Are you up for this, Equius?” you whisper against his horn, nuzzling the exposed keratin. His ragged breathing informs you of his answer before he gasps eagerly, “Yes, please, yes.”

In response, you simultaneously grip one hand around his intact horn and run your tongue over the ridges of his broken one. The sudden sensations make him gasp, so quietly you can barely hear it. You suckle at his horn, backing off once the jerking of his hips alerts you to his overstimulation.

“A-aradia, please, I can’t-“

You twist your hand a little tighter around his pointed horn.

“You don’t get to decide what you can and can’t do. That’s my job.”

He grunts, and you feel his rumble spheres start to engorge with genetic material. Fuck, you will never get over how _responsive_ he is. You sit up as he answers, his voice raspier than usual.

“Of course, my Aradia, my lady, I did not mean to imply any such thing. I wish only to bring you pleasure through my unfaltering obedience.”

These words coming from anyone else would seem facetious, hollow. But from Equius. You know these are his most true and unfiltered thoughts. You can tell by the way he looks at you, hungry but stoic, the way his hips shiver, the way his fingers grip the mat, tearing tiny holes in the material.

“In that case, stop ripping up your own mat and raise your arms above your head.”

Guiltily, he clenches his hands into fists. The taut skin of his arms stretches over his hard-earned musculature as he lifts them towards the ceiling. Shimmying your hips a little, you grab the strips of fabric over his shoulders and pull. He dutifully peels his shoulders off the floor to assist you in taking off his shirt, which you crumple in your hands. You bring his damp shirt up to your face and inhale deeply, again and again, closing your eyes and letting the familiar, sharp scent flood your senses. His huffs are almost in time with your own.

“Oh gog, that’s…that’s filthy, my sweat, it’s obscene- “

You press the fabric to your face once more, then unceremoniously toss it aside. Equius is lying flat on his back now, and the sight of him beneath you, struggling to control his breathing, rumble spheres continuing to swell, stirs a heat in your nook. You feel your bulge twitch. But you give no outward indication of your rapidly increasing arousal. Instead, you lean forward and press a chaste kiss to his lips. He sighs against your mouth, and you bite down, _hard_.

“Ah-Ahhh!” he moans, the skin of his face tightening as his jaw clenches.

“What’s obscene is you fucking getting off on this,” you scold, licking up a bead of blue from the corner of his mouth.

“Language!” comes the inevitable reply.

Another kiss, this time without teeth, and then you are sitting up and pulling off your own shirt. You unbutton your skirt and wiggle out one leg, and then the other. There is no need to take off your bra and panties, as you did not wear any today. Burgundy genetic material has gathered in your nook, and a bit of the sticky fluid paints your pale thighs.

Equius wets his suddenly and uncharacteristically dry lips, trying and failing spectacularly to avoid looking at your exposed body. “Where-where are your undergarments? I have never known you to leave your room without them!”

Making eye contact with Equius, you part the folds of your nook with one hand and fondle the tender tip of your rumblesphere with the other.

“Equius, you understand I hold mating fondness for you, don’t you? Did it ever occur to you that I came here wanting to fuck?”

“L-languaaaaghh” his attempt to chastise you turns into a moan as you plunge two of your fingers deep in your nook, forcing out more genetic material. You close your eyes and squeeze your thighs tighter around Equius’ waist, coaxing out your bulge with light fingers and a sigh. Its tendrils spread across his stomach, searching for a point of contact. You can feel Equius’ own bulge stirring, and you push up to your knees. Drops of red fall onto his chest. He is still trying to hold out, waiting for your permission, like the obedient matesprit he is.

“Do you want to touch me?”

“I-Aradia, you know I-“

You roughly grab his wrists and jerk his arms up.

“I said, do you want to touch me?”

His hands are shaking in your grasp, coated in calluses and sweat.

“ _Yes_ ,” he gasps.

“Then _touch me_.”

You release your hold on his wrists and guide his hands to your waist. They engulf you, encircling your stomach completely. His touch is so light, more like he is holding his hands still and letting your body rest against them than actually holding you. You’ve practiced touching like this in much less… _distracting_ situations, thoroughly testing the exact right amount of pressure Equius can exert to safely hold you. Over and over, at his insistence, you’ve worked on reducing the amount of dark red bruises he unintentionally inflicts upon you.

Still, he hesitates, and you look pointedly at your bulge writhing slowly in the exposed air. He bites his lip, drawing out more of his blue blood, and moves one hand within range of your seeking bulge. Tendrils gingerly wrap about his fingers. You wince at the contact, then a lovely wave of heat rushes over you. He begins to waggle his fingertips, and at your encouraging cries of pleasure, lightly palms the base of your bulge. You thrust forward into his hand, holding onto his arm to keep from collapsing. His meticulous touch is intoxicating. When you say just like that, keep going, he does. Never changing the rhythm or pressure of his fingers. He’s like a robot. You smile at the image.

Your grip on his arm tightens, and you feel yourself rapidly approaching your edge.

“Wait, stop!” you hiss. His hand stills and he looks up at you, panting.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What? Oh, no, Equius, I’m about to cum.”

You scoot backwards on your knees, carefully untangling yourself from his hand. Your tendrils tighten in protest, but you manage to draw them away without too much trouble.

“I am afraid I do not understand. Is the spilling of your slurry not the desired outcome?”

You take a few seconds to focus your mind in an effort to slow your impending orgasm before responding.

“I love when you talk like that, Equius. It’s so-“, you cup his swollen rumblespheres in both hands and squeeze out a trickle of thick blue liquid, “lewd.”

“Slurry is a perfectly appropriate word to describe the genetic material resulting from clopulation- I mean, copulation.” He manages to look somewhat indignant despite his puns and the slurry spilling down his chest. You scoop up some of the liquid in one hand and coat your tender bulge with it. _Fuck_ , you were not expecting that to feel so good. His slurry cools your bulge in the most exquisite way. Unabashed moans arise from deep in your throat, and you almost lose yourself in stroking your tendrils. Instead, you move your fingers to the waistband of Equius’ shorts.

“Let’s discuss proper vocabulary later, perhaps?”

His shorts and panties slide easily down his firm thighs, revealing the tight cleft of his nook. It’s flushed the loveliest blue color, and the tip of his bulge is already coiled at his entrance. You’re so excited, you briefly consider slamming down on top of him to desperately rub and thrust your bulges and rumblespheres together until you empty on each other. But it’s so much more fun when you make him beg.

Somehow, Equius’ hand is still hovering in mid-air, frozen from when you ordered him to stop. He sees your curious look, seemingly not aware of his inaction until just that moment, and stiffly moves it to rest on your thigh. You lean into his touch. His hand feels so right on your body, like two intricate mechanisms locking into place.

“Tell me what you want, Equius,” you command, running your hand down his cheek. His pupils are dilated and he studiously avoids acknowledging his bulge currently extending from his nook to caress your inner thigh.

“I desire only for your satisfaction.”

You give him a pointed look before reaching between your legs to make contact with his bulge. Where your bulge is compact and lithe, blooming from a cherry pink base to deep burgundy tips, his is bulky and thick, the same dark blue all along its considerable length. The instant you brush against it, he bucks his hips, almost throwing you off-balance. You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder, then bend down to lick at his sweat-soaked neck.

“What was that? I don’t think I heard you quite right.”

His bulge is almost painfully tight around your hand, and he continues to hump into you with short, shallow, thrusts. Still, he persists in his delicious denial.

“I said, I-ah, I desire only for your satisfaction.”

“Oh, Equius.” You drop his now fully-extended bulge onto his stomach with a splat of blue genetic material. “Are you seriously telling me you aren’t about to lose your slurry right now?”

He grimaces, and you have to stop yourself from doing a little dance. _Here it comes!_

“Aradia, if you are so willing, I may be able to service you best if we join our bulges together.”

You pretend to ponder his suggestion, biting back a giddy laugh as he _still_ continues to relentlessly hump you.

“What a selfless offer! I believe I am amenable to your proposition. Let me the joining commence!” you declare.

Equius cracks a smile, and you settle yourself down to lay fully on top of him. Without much guidance, your bulges make the familiar journey to find each other and begin wrapping tightly together. You are both already so slick the movement feels almost frictionless. His bulge envelopes yours in its girth, but you focus on squeezing him hard and fast, tendrils pulsing, like you know he likes it. You’re rewarded with the softest little groans escaping from his clenched teeth. Equius slides his arms painfully slow under your hair and down your back, and you shiver under his touch. Finally, he takes your ass in his shaking hands. Exerting the smallest amount of pressure he can manage in his current state, he pushes you further into him, locking the bases of your bulges together. His tiny moans encourage you to rock your hips, and he pushes into you a little more forcefully.

“Oh, fuck, Aradia, fuck me, I can’t, I’m sorry, your bulge, fuck.” A senseless stream of words babbles from his lips, and you rock faster. The sensation is almost unbearable, and you quickly reach your peak again. Before you can crest fully, you sink your teeth into his rumblesphere and say “Spill for me, Equius. Now.”

Amid his low-pitched screams, a deluge of slurry flows from his nook and the genetic material expulsion glands in his bulge and rumblespheres. He’s fucking soaked, and he’s soaked for you, because of you. The undulations of his orgasm rush you to your own, and you gush moments later. Ever thoughtful, Equius continues to grind into you until your cries settle, though you are almost certain his bulge must be screaming from the stimulation. Then you open your eyes you are just now realizing were closed, and he is running his hands through your hair. You relax into him, enjoying the sweet pulsing of your bulge as it coils back into your nook. And then you are both still, and he’s still petting your hair, and you close your eyes once more, safe in his arms.


End file.
